


Mornings and Evenings

by organanation



Category: Perry Mason (TV), Perry Mason - All Media Types, Perry Mason - Erle Stanley Gardner
Genre: F/M, Sleepy fluff, no mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-12 04:24:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20158486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/organanation/pseuds/organanation
Summary: Perry and Della consider mornings and evenings spent with each other.





	1. Mornings with Della

**Author's Note:**

> If you're here expecting HanxLeia, I'm sorry! But if you're here for Perry and Della, welcome! I'm so excited to kick off my foray into this fandom, and I hope you'll enjoy it also!

Perry appreciated the nights he could roll over and find her there beside him. It was nice to come home together after stupidly late nights and decompress for a few moments over sandwiches before falling into bed for a few hours of sleep.

Late nights were often coupled with early mornings, and it took the sting out of the alarm to brush her hand with his when they both reached to stop its incessant clanging. Such a morning person, his Della.

There'd be coffee waiting for him when he got out of the shower, and Della hated to work without breakfast, so he made toast with extra jam while she performed her morning ablutions. It tickled some special place in his heart to see her come out of the bedroom without her shoes and stockings. He was the only one that saw the undone side of Della, and he loved it, cherished the privilege.

On blessed, few mornings, though, their late night wasn't met by an early morning. On those precious mornings, the alarm clock didn't chime. He instead got to savor moments with Della's yet untamed curls, staring into her eyes that hadn't yet lost the fog of sleep, kissing lips that weren't yet off-limits under a coat of deep red. They didn't have to worry about mingling business with pleasure, because there was no business to be had. Perry could hold her to his chest while they planned a lazy day or interpreted a fading dream. There, Della's breath would whisper against his neck and her forehead would scrape against the stubble along his chin.

Eventually, he'd retrieve the morning paper and she'd put a pot of coffee on to perk, and they'd curl back up under the covers to read the headlines and nurse a cup of coffee. The day would have to start sometime, of course, but every day that started with Della in his bed was a good one.


	2. Mornings with Perry

Regarding mornings, Perry was, in a word, grumpy.

When she first started working for him, before they began spending nights together, he'd usually have himself put together by the time they were both in the office, especially if Della had a hot cup of black coffee and a bright smile waiting for him as he walked in the door.

When she began waking up beside him, though...he could be decidedly not put together moments after walking up. It always made her chuckle, how he'd beg her for just five more minutes of sleep. She'd go take a shower and come back with coffee. He'd begrudgingly sit up, hair mussed from sleep, and accept the mug. After a few sips of coffee, it would dawn on him that he should probably get out of bed, which he'd do as slowly as an old man with arthritis in every joint.

He always made her breakfast. It was his sweet way of saying 'I love you' when his mouth wasn't interested in forming words. While he was waiting for his turn in the bathroom, he'd make toast with jam. She'd come out after pulling the curlers from her hair and kiss him sweetly on the cheek. Usually, he was awake enough by then to kiss her back, or at least mumble a 'good morning, darling' before shuffling off to take a shower.

Another cup of coffee followed his shower while he dressed and she put on her makeup.

By then, he was ready to talk. They'd make plans for the evening, plans that half the time were cancelled because of what walked through the door of #904. Work, though, was something they didn't talk about-they had two lives together: one at home, where voices were soft and kisses happened often and without restraint, and the other at work, where affection was passed by the brushing of arms or through private smiles. There was enough time to talk about work when they got to the office.

Della liked to arrive before Perry, even if they drove together. He'd find someone to talk to in the parking structure or the lobby, and she'd go wait for him in the office. It gave her a moment to start more coffee-he'd definitely need another cup before too long-and contact the answering service. Gertie would get in about that time, too, and even though the receptionist probably saw right through the charade, they tried to keep their relationship secret.

Perry would come in eventually and wish her a good morning-the first time all day she'd believe he actually felt it was a good morning. More coffee, of course, and they'd get on with their day as Mr. Mason and his confidential secretary, Ms. Street. Clients would come in, or Paul, or Tragg, and bid them a 'good morning'.

And it was, because she woke up next to her grumpy Mr. Mason.


	3. Evenings with Perry

He was an enigma, Perry Mason. Eleven pm could see him still dressed in his suit and tie, his steel gaze fixed on a client he was trying to read. Questions came quickly as he judged truths from lies, seeking justice. His tone could be strong, harsh even, as he tried to cut through deceit. He could appear stand-offish and cold.

But the other eleven pm Perry Mason, her eleven pm Perry Mason...Her Perry curled around her like spoons in a drawer. He whispered in her ear. They enjoyed their quiet time together, away from ringing phones and sobbing witnesses and pestering homicide detectives.

Here, on his couch or in her bed, they could pretend that work wasn't hectic. She could stop trying to sniff out lies and instead, could simply enjoy complete trust in the man beside her.

In the morning, the world would deal them a new hand of mystery and intrigue. They'd go back to inside jokes and knowing looks instead of murmured pet names and sweet kisses behind the ear. Their relationship had as much duality as Perry did, himself.

But in the evenings, ah. Della would snuggle into his side as they sat together in silence, reading. She'd press a kiss to the edge of his five o'clock shadow, and then he'd look up from his book with a contented smile on his face and affection on his gaze. They'd turn in eventually, after Della had closed her book because the words were swimming across the page and she'd turned to rest her eyes in the safety of his embrace.

"Come on, Sleepy," he'd murmur into her hair where she was pillowed against his shoulder. His kiss was always the sweetest when it fell sleepily on her lips as she turned out the light and he arranged the blankets just so. The bed-both in his apartment and hers-smelled of them. Sandalwood from his aftershave, peony from her perfume. She loved the scent, thought of it as home and peace, rest, them.

After years of working odd hours, Della could sleep almost anywhere. But falling asleep next to Perry Mason...there was nothing better.


	4. Evenings with Della

t was partly his fault, Perry supposed, that Della was inclined to dozing. If he kept any semblance of normal hours, she could have some sort of reliable sleep schedule to stick to. Perry wasn't one who needed much sleep, but his Della needed her 40 winks.

It was how they'd originally began spending evenings together, and how evenings of dinner and quiet time had turned into nights with her in his arms.

Most evenings, the evenings that didn't keep them stuck at the office, they spent having dinner somewhere secluded, followed by a drive around the city, finishing on the couch with a book or television.

If the week had been busy, Della dropped off on his shoulder as they drove. When that happened, he'd drive to the park and sit contentedly watching the world go by as she slept, curled up under his arm. Children played on the playgrounds, lovers strolled hand-in-hand near the fountains, old men read the evening paper in the golden light of the evening, and Perry happily watched it all as Della slept.

During quiet weeks, she could usually keep her eyes open until they got back to the apartment. A few pages into her book, reclined against him with her feet propped against the other armrest, she'd nod off, her book falling onto her chest. Whether it was the ticking of the mantle clock, the soft hum of music from the radio, or merely the absence of ringing phones and buzzing intercoms, Perry didn't know. Perhaps it was the way he ran his fingers through her hair or the rise and fall of his chest beneath her head that did the trick. Whatever it was, it made Della sleep.

He'd wake her before she fell into too deep a sleep and send her shuffling off to brush her teeth as he locked up and turned out the lights. She'd be waiting for him in bed when he was finished with his nightly routine. If it wasn't too late, he'd bring his reading with him.

These moments were as precious as they were few and far between: tucked under the covers together in bed, him leaned against the quilted headboard and her pillowed against his chest. Della sleeping soundly, which he'd know by the slow rhythm of her breathing and measured, even way her back rose and fell beneath his hands where he held open his book.

In the warmer months, the window would be open slightly so they could listen to the muffled sounds of a never-slumbering city in the background. In cooler months, he'd still occasionally crack the window so that Della would snuggle in even closer, craving heat. Often, her cold nose would end up in the crook of his neck or her icy toes would seek refuge near his warmer feet.

He cherished moments like these as much as he did early mornings when she's turn over beside him and kiss his forehead at the abrupt clatter of the alarm clock. Late nights pursuing justice often kept them from quiet nights like these, but it was the promise of sinking into bed beside her that kept him going through long, dreary days.

Finally, when he could no longer keep his eyes open, he'd reach over to snap off the lamp on the bedside table. Della would stir against him and sit up, letting him scoot over to the cold side of the bed.

"Did you get much reading done?" she'd ask sleepily.

He'd murmur an answer as he drew her back in, ghosting kisses over her forehead and trailing down to her mouth.

Della would smile against his lips and yawn before falling back to sleep.

Evenings with Della-the purest reward he knew.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me a review if you enjoyed it, and find me on Tumblr @organanation for more!


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